


Paper Tigers

by Annissa



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Angst, Dreams, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 13:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12772203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annissa/pseuds/Annissa
Summary: During her run through Jareth's Labyrinth, Sarah learned essential life lessons, but life moves on even after you grow up, and there are always important things to learn.





	Paper Tigers

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you once again to the wonderful and talented Exulansis for beta-ing for me!

“Do you have your dream picked out?”

Sarah turned from the nurse and faced the anesthesiologist. “Sorry?” she said, unsure what the woman meant.

“For when you’re under. Do you know what you want to dream about?”

Sarah thought for a moment, and then shrugged, an apologetic smile on her face. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Well, you’ve still got a little time,” the woman said. “Do you have any questions? Any concerns?”

Sarah suppressed a desperate laugh. Two weeks ago she’d visited her OBGYN for her annual checkup and now she was about to have bits of her reproductive system removed. Not having children didn’t bother her; she’d never had the inclination. But the cancer that had grown so quickly on her right ovary had made her mortality all too real to her. She knew, however, that this was not the kind of concern the anesthesiologist was asking about.

“Well...” Sarah started. 

The anesthesiologist gave her a look that said, _Go on, I’m listening_.

“Have you ever heard of someone being ‘locked in?’”

The anesthesiologist’s look changed to one of confusion.

“You know, where you’re conscious but you can’t move and you can feel everything that’s happening.”

“Oh!” the woman said, understanding crossing her features. “That won’t happen. It can’t. The gas I’m going to give you is going to make you go to sleep. Then, we’ll do a TAP block and deaden the nerves in your abdomen. That lasts twenty-four hours, but some people say it lasts up to thirty-six. You’re not going to feel a thing.” She leaned closer to Sarah and patted the front of her white coat. “And if you’re really nervous, I always carry a little magic in my pocket.” 

“And your husband is going to pick you up after?” the nurse asked from the computer terminal next to Sarah’s bed.

“Brother,” Sarah corrected. “I never married. And yes, he just went to get some lunch, but he’ll be back in time to take me home.”

“Will there be anyone to help you for the first week or so? You won’t want to be alone.”

“I’m staying at my dad’s house for the next week. Longer, if necessary.”

“Ah,” the nurse replied, and Sarah felt a moment of embarrassment for oversharing. She didn’t think she could take another conversation with a stranger expressing surprise that by age 46 she’d never married. If one more person said, “But you’re so pretty!” to her, she thought she’d scream. 

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief when the nurse only turned away from the computer and said, “Ready to go then?” and positioned herself to push Sarah’s bed out of the little cubicle and toward the operating room.

“As I’ll ever be,” Sarah replied as cheerfully as she could.

Conversation stopped as the nurse wheeled Sarah through the hallways of the hospital, the anesthesiologist walking alongside, up to the third floor where it was brighter and colder than in the prep area, and into the operating room where it was brighter and colder still. The nurse pushed the bed alongside the operating table and helped Sarah as she struggled to pull herself off the gurney and onto the new surface. 

Sarah shifted around on the strange beanbag-like surface of the table, trying to find a comfortable position. The cold room hadn’t yet begun to bother her before a nurse began to wrap her in blankets from the warming cupboard. More and more people were entering the room, bustling around and fiddling with equipment throughout the room. The anesthesiologist fitted a mask over Sarah’s face and turned on the oxygen.

“Do you mind if I plug in here? I only need it until my phone charges,” a male voice said. Sarah couldn’t quite see him behind a large machine.

A nurse standing next to Sarah giggled. “Totally understand. Mine dies all the time!” Sarah looked up in time to see the nurse’s back go rigid. The woman turned to look at Sarah, panic written across her features, “My phone! My phone dies! My patients are all just fine, I swear!”

Sarah forced a smile. Dear gods… she didn’t want to be here.

“Well, did you come up with a dream?” the anesthesiologist asked gently.

Sarah hesitated.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I overheard you say you weren’t married. Was there maybe someone special? Someone you’d like to see again?”

Was there someone? The question brought to mind mismatched eyes and wild hair, and she was suddenly filled with a strong sense of longing.

Sarah’s head began to swim.

She looked at the anesthesia team crowding around her. They wouldn’t understand - couldn’t understand - her attachment to a fairytale king, one who was quite probably only a figment of her imagination. Though they were standing next to the operating table, the anesthesia team suddenly seemed very far away, their bodies stretching up toward a ceiling that now seemed impossibly high. A little voice in the back of Sarah’s mind said, that’ll be the gas. 

Mismatched eyes, wild hair, and a pervading sense of loss. 

She could no longer focus on the people surrounding her.

“I wish…” was all she could say before she lost consciousness.

 

Sarah opened her eyes and turned a slow circle, noticing the way the fields of golden grass spread away from her into infinity. The intensely blue sky above her seemed enormous as it stretched to the distant horizon, and she tipped her face to the sunlight, enjoying the way it warmed her skin. The slender strap of her white sundress slipped off her shoulder, but she felt no need to adjust it. She was alone in this vast plane of blue and gold, but she was warm and content.

And then she saw the game board spread in front of her, incongruous against the grass of this idyllic place.

It was a game from her childhood, one she had played countless times with her mother and father, and later, her father, stepmother, and brother. It was an old favorite and she had a strategy she played again and again: take the college route and hope for a high-paying career to make the rest of the game easier. Sometimes it worked out and sometimes it didn’t, but wasn’t that just like life?

She smiled slightly, and settled herself comfortably on the soft grass, her legs curled to one side. Studying the board, she found only one little car more than halfway through the game’s lone road. One little car with a single pink peg in the driver’s seat. 

Sarah furrowed her brow. The car was far enough along in the game that there should have been at least two pegs in the car, not just one. She took a closer look at the board; it didn’t look quite right. Oh, most of the spaces seemed the same; there was still a choice between going to college and going straight into the workforce and the standard _Baby Boy!_ and _Baby Girl!_ tiles, but there were also a few that were most certainly not supposed to be there.

Her sense of contentment fled, replaced with a slight but persistent anxiety.

_Writer’s Block!  
Trade salary card with any player._

That hurt. She’d been so sure she’d be a published author by now, but she hadn’t even been able to produce a rough draft. She still turned her story idea over in her head from time to time, but the idea of writing it down was too overwhelming. She’d taken an administrative position to pay the bills and that’s where she’d stayed for years.

_Eviction notice!  
Pay $5,000 for new apartment._

She knew that tile wasn’t supposed to be there. She still wondered if she could have avoided the eviction if she’d just talked to the people who owned the building, maybe worked out something she could do to keep the rent on the apartment from going up any more, or at least let her stay until she could find something in her price range. An eviction on her credit report hadn’t done her any favors with the house hunt. In the end, she’d had to borrow money from her father and Karen to get back on her feet. 

She ran her finger from the college track to the little plastic chapel and the red space that forced a player to stop and get married. It was changed.

_Fear of commitment!  
Continue alone._

Now that just wasn’t fair. She couldn’t be expected to marry the first guy who showed any interest. Or the second, for that matter. And if the third wasn’t quite right either, there were plenty more options out there. Marriage was serious and if you weren’t completely certain about the guy, it would be foolish to commit to him. It was what she told herself whenever a relationship looked as if it was about to become serious. It had become her mantra.

Sarah shook her head and willed herself not to cry. 

She looked at the plastic car with its solitary peg and curiosity got the best of her. She lifted it to read the tile on which it had rested.

_Cancer scare!  
No more children._

“What the…?” Sarah started, a chill running down her spine.

“Oh dear,” came a silky voice right next to her ear. “How unfortunate.”

Sarah started at the sound, recognizing the voice easily. She shifted slightly to look over her shoulder.

He was close, mimicking her posture, but not quite touching her, a solid and immovable presence just behind her. He was draped entirely in black, the only darkness in the dreamscape she had created for herself. He was not looking at her, but at the space on the game board she’d just revealed.

“Jareth,” Sarah whispered.

His eyes shot to hers.

“Sarah,” he replied.

“Are you real? Or just a dream?”

His lips quirked into a slight smile. “That would be telling.”

Something tickled her ankle and Sarah glanced down to find a tendril of Jareth’ ragged cloak curling against her skin. She shook it off.

When she looked back to him, he was studying the distant horizon, an expression of regret clouding his face. “I couldn’t have gotten it more wrong, could I?”

“Sorry?” she said, confused.

“Are you?”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I… What are you talking about? Why are you here?”

He ran the back of a single finger just over her shoulder and down her arm, never quite touching her, then lifted his chin toward the game board in front of her. “I do so love games, but I am unfamiliar with this one. Care to explain the rules?”

She shivered, wishing silently that she could feel his hand as it ghosted over her skin. She hadn’t failed to notice that he hadn’t answered her question. 

She licked her lips.

“Or perhaps I am not wanted and should take my leave,” he said and began to rise.

“Wait,” she said, and, to her surprise, he did. “It’s been thirty years since I last saw you. Why come to me now, after so long?”

He raised an eyebrow, his head tilting inquisitively. “Is thirty years a terribly long time, Sarah?”

Yes, of course, she wanted to blurt out. But, if she really thought about it? Thirty years had been almost the blink of an eye, every year seeming to go faster than the last. She bit her lip, not quite sure how to answer.

She studied him, details of him coming into sharp focus after being blurred by her human memory and the passage of time. His face was more gaunt than she remembered, though his prominent cheekbones and strangely-shaped eyebrows remained. She looked him over, trying to see if his body was as thin as his face suggested, but he seemed to disappear under his cloak, his hands, gloved in black, only visible when he reached out from under the torn, undulating cloth. His hair was still wild, but he had woven the odd black feather into the locks and she wondered if she had seen it like that before. His eyes, though… they were exactly as she remembered: ice blue, and one pupil far larger than the other. It took her far too long to realize that he was studying her just as intently. Blushing, she looked away.

“Please,” she said. “Stay.”

“As you wish,” he said and settled back down, a small smile gracing his expression. He nearly placed his hand on her hip, but pulled back at the last moment, curling his hand into a fist and resting it on his cloak, the contours of his fingers disappearing into the flat black of the fabric.

“It’s the Game of Life,” Sarah said, gesturing to the board. “You begin with a car and one peg, yourself, and then you spin the dial and the space you land on decides how your life goes.”

“What is the goal?”

“At the end, you count up how much money and assets you have and....” She paused when she noticed Jareth’s look of disapproval. “What’s the matter?” 

“This game requires no skill, no strategy.”

“That’s not true,” Sarah argued. “You have to choose whether or not to go to college, which costs money, but pays off later, and there are some forks in the road…” She trailed off. 

“The choices are inconsequential,” he replied. “You can choose to go into debt for your education, but you may lose your career at any moment or have your salary stolen by another player.” Jareth pointed to the different spots on the board that proved his point. “And, really,” distaste becoming more apparent on his features, “the goal is to accumulate more wealth than your opponents? How gauche.”

“Rich people always think talking about money is gauche.”

Jareth raised an eyebrow, his expression incredulous. “You believe me to be wealthy?”

Sarah felt the tickle of his cloak around her ankle again, but ignored it.

“You’re a king,” Sarah argued. “They go hand-in-hand.”

“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten you were well-acquainted with my kingdom. I’m curious: exactly which show of ostentatious wealth impressed you the most?”

Sarah thought back to the Labyrinth with its dead plants and derelict castle. “Where I’m from, money and power go hand-in-hand.”

“And where I’m from, power stands alone.”

“So you have no money?”

“Not a penny.”

“But you can still do or have whatever you want.”

He didn’t respond. 

“Well, you know what they say,” she said simply to fill the silence, “‘he who dies with the most toys…’”

“Still dies,” Jareth finished, his face showing no hint of humor.

Sarah felt the smile vanish from her face. She looked down at her piece on the board and felt the flutter of his cloak against her calf. 

“It’s just a game. Did you want to play it or not?”

“It looks as if the game is already well under way.”

“I can reset the board.”

“I think you’ll find that this is a game you must see through to the end. But you may finish, if you like. I’ll wait.”

“Maybe something like Chess would be more up your alley?” she asked, glancing back at Jareth.

“Indeed not.”

“Why’s that?” 

“I’m afraid I’m already checkmated.” His eyes were intense, boring into hers.

Silence. 

“Is it a good life?” he asked.

The feel of his cloak draping itself over her leg was strangely comforting as she tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly developed in her throat.

“It’s a piece of cake,” she whispered. It was even less convincing than the first time she’d said those words to him.

“Clearly,” he responded, his voice turning icy.

She looked down at the board, and at the car with its lone occupant.

“What would you know about it?” Sarah asked, pulling away slightly, and brushing the cloak off her leg. “I have a good life,” she protested.

Several spots on the board began to glow, and Sarah could easily see the course of her life in a single glance. Every crossroad that led her to current situation. 

“You forget, precious thing. I know your dreams. This-” he gestured to the board, “-is not the life you were meant to lead.”

“Sometimes things just happen. It can’t be helped.”

“Lying does not become a woman of your station.”

She stiffened. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” The cloak crept up her legs, curling around her waist.

“You were meant for something greater than this,” Jareth said, gesturing to the board. 

“Like what, exactly?” Sarah asked angrily. “You think I wasted my life because I didn’t get married? Have kids?” She pulled away from him, turning and getting up on her knees. The cloak seemed to follow her, reaching out to her, beckoning her forward. “I’m not a walking uterus,” she growled.

“You misunderstand. Willfully, I believe.” His eyes were hard.

Sarah’s eyes were harder as she looked down at where he rested on the ground, his body hidden by the blackness of the cloak.

“Every choice you regret was the result of fear,” he explained. 

A few of the spaces on the board ceased to glow. Sarah looked back over her shoulder at the game. She could still see the commitments she failed to make, the home she lost through inaction, the career she abandoned for something easier, safer.

“The girl - the _woman-_ ” he corrected, “who tore down my castle was not so timid. She could have asked for anything, and the world would have bent to her will. She needed only to determine what she wanted.”

“It was easier in the Labyrinth,” she sighed.

Jareth raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not saying the Labyrinth was easy,” she clarified. “But for all of the ‘things are not what they seem’ or ‘you can’t take anything for granted’ talk, my mission was clear. I knew the right thing to do.” 

“And now you don’t?”

“The girl who tore down your castle made an impulsive decision and nearly lost her baby brother. Your Labyrinth taught me a lot of things, and thinking hard before making any decisions was the most important. I just…” She sighed deeply before continuing. “The problem is I just don’t know what I want. If I could figure that out, I would know what to do.”

“I should like to break you of that nasty habit,” Jareth said, coolly.

Sarah looked at him, puzzled.

“Lying again.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“You know exactly what you want,” he continued. “You simply refuse to take it.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Sarah said, mortified by the tears that were becoming more apparent in the tone of her voice.

“Then you still misunderstand. You had only one opportunity to receive your dreams, and you refused them. From that point forward, you were faced with the same trials and hardships any mortal has to face. But you would have succeeded, had you only faced your fears.”

Sarah felt herself droop, her hard facade crumbling away. “I thought…” she started, unsure she wanted to share anything so personal. “I thought the Labyrinth had taught me everything I needed to know. I changed, I swear I did. I wasn’t selfish, I wasn’t cruel. I was a good person." She laughed harshly. "What did that get me?”

“What did you expect to get?”

“I don’t know!” she shouted, exasperated. She settled herself, lowering her voice. “Happiness? Fulfillment?” Her eyes shifted back to the game board, regret settling over her like a blanket. “Certainly not an invasive surgery and a visit from my childhood boogeyman.”

“Is that what I am to you?”

Sarah wasn’t sure how to answer. She sat back on her heels and stared at her hands. Tendrils of Jareth’s cloak caressed her skin, wrapping around her wrists. She pulled back slightly, feeling the slight tension of the fabric as it tried to maintain contact with her. 

“Why does it keep doing that?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed, and Sarah could see the gears turning in his head. “This is a liminal space,” he finally said. “In places such as this, some things may behave… oddly.” 

“Will it hurt me?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?”

She looked at the fabric on her arm, the pure blackness making her seem to disappear wherever it touched her. She pulled away to where it had not yet reached, and saw her skin reappear, unblemished. 

“So afraid of new experiences, and yet unhappy and unfulfilled by the old.”

She dropped her hands in her lap. “I didn’t say that.” 

“And neither are you denying it.”

His cloak reached for her shoulders, embracing her. 

She looked up, refusing to flinch, meeting his odd eyes. “No,” she confirmed, unwilling to attempt another lie. “I’m not denying it.” 

His lips turned up in the slightest of smiles, a reward for her honesty.

“You could be. Happy, that is. Fulfilled.”

“How?”

“You’ve played it safe for too long. Try something new. Something a little more daring. A leap of faith, if only in yourself.” 

“Like what?”

“Ah ah ah,” he said as he lifted a finger from black invisibility and waved it at her. “That’s not for me to decide. If I did, it would hardly be a leap, would it?” His cloak stroked the bare skin of her back, completely enveloping her. “This is your life. You decide which risks to take.”

Sarah looked at the game board, at her years of disappointments and “safe” decisions.

The cloak caressed the back of her neck, bringing her back to the present. “Will it be another thirty years before I see you again?”

His expression was inscrutable, his smile crooked, and eyes calculating. 

“Right,” Sarah said. “Well, I’ve wanted to do this since I was fifteen, and if it’s my last chance…” She leaned forward then, hesitating only for the last centimeter, before kissing him lightly on the lips. 

His cloak seized, wrapping itself tightly around her and pulling her against him. She startled, a yelp escaping her before he was kissing her back. Though she could see only his face, she could feel his body beneath the cloak: solid, warm, and male. Sarah melted into him, wrapping her legs around his waist and settling into his lap, her hands weaving through his wild hair, and she rejoiced when she felt his hands wrap around her, one hand holding her tight and the other tangling in her own hair. She gave not a single thought to modesty or propriety. This was what she wanted, what she’d wanted for so long and could never admit to herself, the fear of failure and rejection holding her back, and it was everything she’d hoped, everything she’d dreamed. 

He was waiting, she thought. Waiting for her to admit what she wanted, and then, to reach out and take it.

_“This is Sarah. She’s really nice.”_

The feminine voice came from nowhere, surprising Sarah, who pulled away from Jareth, slightly stunned. She searched the golden expanse around her, looking for the woman who matched that voice, a woman with a white coat and magic in her pocket.

“There’s hope for you yet,” Jareth said, his voice filled with amusement. Sarah looked back at him. “A leap of faith, Sarah,” Jareth said seriously, though he still smiled.

She had no time to respond before his cloak covered her face, turning her world black.

_“We’ll take good care of her.”_ The new voice, also feminine, was unfamiliar.

Sarah felt the world moving and then realized it was she who was moving. And then the sound of the gurney’s wheels registered to her ears and she remembered where she was and what she was doing. 

Surgery. General anesthesia. 

And one hell of a dream.

The recovery floor nurse helped her slowly wake from the anesthesia, moving her down to the main floor as soon as she was able to keep her eyes open.

It took her longer than expected to come completely out of the anesthesia and the main floor was nearly empty when she and Toby left the hospital. They drove to their father’s home in silence.

“Still groggy, huh?” Toby asked.

Sarah smiled weakly, holding a pillow to her abdomen. She felt no pain, but still cringed at every bump in the road. 

He helped her inside and up to her old bedroom. It had long ago been transformed into a guest room, and though Sarah’s twin bed was long gone, her old mirrored vanity remained. Toby helped her get situated on the bed, while her father and stepmother brought her a stack of books and a glass of water, but Sarah had no desire for books or t.v. shows. When they left her to sleep, she stared out the window at the old Elm outside her window, expecting somehow to see a barn owl in its branches. 

Days passed, some with more difficulty than others, as she recovered from the surgery. As she recovered, she thought often about fear, the Game of Life, and a cloak with a mind of its own. 

Her father drove her home on the seventh day. She was moving with more ease, taking the pain medication only when necessary. She kissed his cheek before he left, a gesture that surprised him, but that he seemed to appreciate.

Night fell and the incisions began to ache, but Sarah denied herself the medication, wanting her mind clear.

She sat at the window in her living room, looking down at the busy street below. A flash of white caught her attention as a large owl alighted on a tree across the street.

Sarah bit her lip, her heart beginning to beat a little faster, indecision and fear warring within her.

A leap of faith, he’d said.

She calmed, pushing the fear away, knowing the potential reward was worth the risk. 

“I wish…” she started.

**Author's Note:**

> The most difficult thing is the decision to act. The rest is merely tenacity. The fears are paper tigers. You can do anything you decide to do. You can act to change and control your life and the procedure. The process is its own reward. - Amelia Earhart


End file.
